


Someone to Burn the World For

by weaverofdreams45



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - School, F/M, Feelings Realization, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 12:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaverofdreams45/pseuds/weaverofdreams45
Summary: Tom Riddle has never been a patient man.  He is cold and cruel and manipulative, but what happens when someone threatens to take away the one person he has ever cared about?





	Someone to Burn the World For

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first attempt at Tomione, so don't be shy in telling me what you think. Thank you to the lovely Lidia from the facebook group Tomione Fanfics for betaing. I hope you enjoy!

Tom Riddle hadn’t been a patient child, and by that same logic, he had not grown up into a patient man. Now entering his final year of sixth form, he found his patience for the painfully small town he had grown up in wearing increasingly thin. There were only two things that kept him sane; his early acceptance to Hogwarts, the finest university in the country, and his long-time best friend Hermione.

Now one may ask how is it a person as dark and dangerous as he had the occasion for friends. It is an understandable question considering that every other person he interacts with could not be categorized as anything other than a lackey, minion, or goon. Hermione though, they had known each other for so long.

\- Little Hangleton -

“The Grangers have just moved in down the street at number 15. Take them this tray of lemon bars.” Mrs. Cole informed him, the elderly woman who fostered him and a few other children in her small home. The house was far too floral for his tastes, and it always smelt of disinfectant. He was desperate for an excuse to leave his prison.

“Yes Mrs. Cole.” Tom responded, his perfectly quaffed hair and beautiful features looking nearly angelic. Any other adult would have been charmed by him, but Mrs. Cole knew better. The devil was in him, or so she would say. There was something so delicious about watching her discomfort grow, and Tom reveled in it.

“Be home before dark, and don’t…do anything.” Her crisp voice called out again right before he reached the door. As much as he hated that house, the woman who owned it, and the other children there, it would not do for him to lose his ability to roam. The air was crisp and slightly chilled as he walked down Gaunt Drive. The neighborhood was nice enough, housing numerous quaint homes with their green lawns and their picket fences. Shifting the lemon bar Tupperware from his right hand to his left, he approached the Granger’s home. The house was as mundane as all the others, which Tom frowned at as he walked up the short cobblestone path to the door. If their home was boring, so likely would the occupants be. His first surprise then, was to see that unlike all the other homes on the street, the Grangers’ door was painted a bright red. _Maybe not so boring after all, _he thought to himself.

Raising his hand to the door, he rasped his knuckles on it a few times. Shuffling sounds came from inside to let him know that someone was coming, and he smoothed his hair again with his free hand. Charming people was his specialty, and this would be a great test of his skill.

The woman who answered the door was pretty enough, though her plain blue dress and lack of makeup did nothing to bring out her beauty. Her brown hair was cut into a blunt bob at the shoulder and her brown eyes were hidden behind rather large spectacles. In her hands, she held a floral dishtowel that she seemed to be drying her hands with.

“Hello dear. Who might you be?” She asked, placing her towel over her shoulder now that she was done with it.

“My name is Tom Riddle ma’am. I live with Mrs. Cole just down the drive. We wanted to give you these as a welcome to the neighborhood.” Making sure to use his most polite tone, he smiled at the woman. The most satisfying part for him was always watching the change in their eyes when they chose to trust him; like a lamb delivering its throat to a wolf. 

“My name is Helen Granger. Please do come in dear. I’ll take these to the kitchen; they look lovely.” Opening her door wider to him, he kept smiling as he followed her down the narrow entrance hall of the house into the kitchen. The hallway had been decorated with four glittering frames which held degrees; the first two being university and the second two being medical.

“Are you and your partner doctors?” He asked, keeping his tone polite, he gauged the validity of his observation. There was little he didn’t see, and he could often catch people off their guard when he somehow knew things that they thought he couldn’t possibly know.

“Why yes. Dentists actually. My husband and I own our own practice in the city.” Helen placed the lemon bars on the counter and beamed with pride at her declaration. Tom had to agree that it was impressive to be so young and have your own practice. Looking around the Granger’s kitchen, he found it much more inviting than Mrs. Cole’s. For one, it did not smell of industrial strength cleaning solution, but rather a sweet sort of fruity scent made of apples and vanilla. For two, it was devoid of the garish and outdated décor of the early 1960s.

“You have a lovely home Mrs. Granger.” Tom complimented, being truthful to an extent. Their home was not as bad as others he had seen on the street. The Granger’s seemed to have some sense of style at least.

“Thank you. How old are you Tom, are you home from school?” Her question was understandable, and one that Tom was never surprised to be asked. He had been told on many occasions that he seemed older than he was.

“I’ve just turned 9 ma’am, and yes I attend St. Albus Prep.” The shock on her face wore off after a moment, and she went to the sliding glass doors to the side of the kitchen and called out for who Tom assumed to be her husband to come in.

A moment later, a tall, lanky man with tightly curled brown hair entered the kitchen. He was certainly handsome to a degree, and he was matching his wife with plain and ordinary clothing. But what drew Tom’s attention next was the little girl beside him. She had her mother’s honey toned eyes but her father’s curly hair. On a man with short hair, the curls were more tamed, but this little girl’s hair ran wild around her face. Curls seemed to spring from every angle, and Tom wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through the jungle on her head and pull her hair.

“And who might this be Helen?” The tall man asked, placing a kiss on his wife’s cheek as he joined her at her side. The girl was staring at Tom with her large brown eyes, carefully clutching her book to her chest before she hid behind her father.

“My name is Tom Riddle sir. I live down the street.” He held out his hand to the man, who seemed taken aback by his manners. Most adults were so easily disarmed by his perfect manners at such a young age.

“Nice to meet you Tom. I’m Richard and this shy little curmudgeon is Hermione.” Richard moved to the side to showcase Hermione who still seemed to be wary of Tom, which normally thrilled him, but on this occasion he found himself more intrigued by her than interested in frightening her.

“Hello Hermione.” He spoke, putting on his toothiest grin at the girl. She looked to be slightly younger than him, perhaps 6 or 7.

“Hermione here is 8. You two will likely be in school together. Perhaps you two can be friends.” Helen ruffled her daughter’s curls, and Tom chuckled as the girl hid behind her father again in response.

“I would like that. Would you be interested in being my friend Hermione?” Tom directed his gaze to the young girl who stepped out from behind her father with a fierce resolve that he didn’t think she was capable of. This brave little girl approached him and stamped her foot.

“You’re scary and I don’t want to be friends with you.” Her lips turned down into a frown, and she grabbed her book and ran away from him. Helen seemed distraught at her daughters sudden outburst, but was shocked when Tom burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry Tom, she’s not normally like that. She’s a lovely young girl. A bit bookish, but she gets that from me.” Richard was the one to speak, as Helen made to follow after Hermione’s escape. Something changed in the way the man regarded him though, and Tom had to consciously keep himself from frowning at the man’s scrutiny. 

“Don’t fret. I am a stranger after all. Maybe one day she’ll warm up to me.” His words were nonchalant, but the gears were turning in his head. No one said no to him, and he always got what he wanted; and in that moment, he wanted Hermione Granger.

\- St. Albus Prep -

Tom watched as Helen Granger held Hermione’s hand as they waited for the bus to school the following Monday. He, as the eldest foster child, had three children following him in tow. Margery and Jordan were both eight and obnoxious; which had led to…certain unpleasant interactions with Tom. They were less loud and energetic around him, which served him just fine. The last child was Serena who had just began her first year of schooling. She was quite the timid child, so naturally she was the one Tom disliked the least.

“Come along.” He ordered them as the bus turned the corner and stopped in front of them. Helen Granger kissed Hermione on the top of her head and sent her off after them. The school uniform she wore was freshly pressed and clean, and her wild hair was being held back in two French braids. Tom rather preferred when her hair had been free to move.

He thought about offering for her to sit next to him, but Serena sat beside him as she always did. Hermione fell into a seat in front of him by herself, and he found himself quietly observing her on the short commute to their school. She seemed perfectly content reading her book, although it was a different book than the one she had when they first met. St. Albus’s was a private school that he and his foster siblings only attended because Mrs. Cole was close friends with the man in charge. Tom had gone to a public school for his first year of schooling, but he was an intelligent child and soon he learned to quell his boredom by tormenting his fellow students. Mrs. Cole thought that St. Albus’s would curb his behavior with their strict emphasis on discipline. She had been wrong. All it had served to do was make him smarter and more elusive of getting caught.

That first day of school with Hermione, Tom couldn’t focus on class at all; not that he needed to as he had already finished the book they were reading, and he was at least two grade levels ahead in maths. His mind drifted to the year 3 classes and his resentment of the fact that his idiot companions were able to be with Hermione and he wasn’t. There was a duality to his fascination with her: on the one hand, he wanted to make her afraid of him, and on the other, she was perhaps intelligent enough to entertain him – given the size of the book she had been reading when he first met her.

The next few weeks of school resulted in Tom becoming increasingly obsessed with his new curly haired classmate as he kept close track of the number of books she read. Margery had begun whining about how Hermione was boring and all she did was read. Jordan however, complained that the girl wouldn’t play with him at recess. A quick glower from Tom after the third day, and they never brought up their qualms with Hermione again.

Serena seemed to either not know enough about her (seeing as she was two years younger) or not care either way, but regardless, she was the only one who hadn’t been driving him mental about it. Tom had been scouting out an opportunity to endear himself to her, and luckily for him resident bully Lionel French gave him one.

It had been three weeks since Hermione had joined them at St. Albus’s, and she had not been terribly proactive in forming friendships or alliances. She just sat quietly, got excellent marks, and read. Tom, of course, was by far the meanest person at the school, but he was far from blatant about it. The aura of fear that surrounded him went unspoken. There were still however, your run of the mill school bullies; the worst of whom was Lionel. He was a fourth year in Tom’s class and he had a face like a bird. Blonde hair hung limply around his face, and his greyish blue eyes always seemed to Tom to be obvious windows into his motivations. Desperation for the respect and approval of his friends made him a nuisance, but an easily squashed and weak enemy. His long nose was hooked and pointy, and what he lacked in sophistication and class he made up for in unkind words and brute force.

Lionel decided on the bus ride home one day that he was going to try his luck at bullying Hermione, having grown tired of his last target. He was sitting in the seat in front of her when he knelt on the fabric and turned to face her.

“Hey there new girl. Whatcha reading? An instructional manual on being a swotty little know-it-all?” It was not his most clever attack, nor did it seem very successful as Hermione just ignored him and continued reading. Tom took note of two feelings in that moment: the first that he was impressed with Hermione’s resolve and the second that he wanted to destroy that boy for speaking to her.

“Come on. Show us what you’re reading.” Before she could stop him, he reached over the seat and grabbed the book from her.

“Give that back!” She finally responded, her small cheeks flushing bright red as she scowled at him. There was a fierceness in her words, but it did not seem to deter the older bully.

“How bout you make me?” He bit back, earning a bout of laughter from his dodgy friends. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, and Tom clenched his fist. There had been a mutual understanding between Lionel and Tom since his first week at St. Albus’s; Tom would not encroach on Lionel’s pitiful attempts at torment, and Lionel would never receive Tom’s wrath. An understanding that Tom was about to breech. 

“I believe she asked for her book back.” Tom spoke, his voice clear and crisp and as polite as usual.

“What of it Riddle? This doesn’t concern you.” Lionel sneered at him, although Tom did not miss the note of uncertainty in his voice. They had never once gone against each other, and it would’ve been wiser for him to drop the subject. But Lionel was not a wise boy.

“I believe it does.” Tom remarked, bearing a toothy grin. It was amazing how different a smile could be depending on someone’s eyes. For example, when Tom grinned at figures of authority, he would do his best to make his eyes seem bright and full. Not for Lionel. His eyes were sending the boy a message; cease or face the consequences. He could see the other boy’s gears turning, calculating if Tom’s wrath was worth it to show off in front of his friends. After a moment, it was clear that he had come to a decision…a very wrong decision.

“Well tough. If little miss library here wants her book back, she can bloody well take it.” He had barely finished his sentence before Tom’s fist connected with the boy’s nose. It wasn’t the first time Tom had punched something, nor the first time Tom had punched someone. A stinging crept through his hands, but he knew enough to make sure that his thumb had not broken. Lionel stared at him for a moment before dropping the book on the ground and grasping at his nose; which based on the satisfying crunch noise it had made, was broken.

Tom took this opportunity to grab the book, offering it with his now bleeding hand to Hermione. She stared at him, her mouth open and her large amber hued eyes wide in shock. Grabbing her book, she mumbled her thanks before turning firmly away from him. Still she defied him. He resisted the urge to grab her hair and make her turn back towards him, make her look, instead, he just looked harshly at Lionel.

“I don’t care if you fancy yourself a poor excuse of a bully or if you insist on trying to show off your strength to others to make up for the fact that you are painfully inadequate, but do not ever speak to Hermione again unless she asks you to. Am I understood?” Lionel gaped at the boy in front of him, looking as a doe looks upon a wolf. Nodding his head quickly, he sucked in a breath as his nose continued to bleed. Releasing his piercing gaze, the boy turned back to his friends, who were handing him scraps of napkins and assorted tissues.

The bus had gone silent, and no one dared speak. Tom, sighing at the spectacle of it all, turned to Serena. “Do you have much homework? Mrs. Cole will want me to help you finish it before supper.” The moment his voice passed through his lips, discussion and chatter began again, mostly geared around the event that had just unfolded. No one ever stood up to Lionel. Their stop came quickly after that, and Hermione exited first.

There was a quickness to her pace, as if she was trying to run from them all…from him. He was about to start after her when she stopped abruptly and turned with enough force to cause her curls to twirl around her.

“Thank you, although punching him was excessive.” She whispered, clutching the book to her chest as she looked down at her shoes. In that moment, Tom knew he should’ve felt victorious, but there was something about her unease that made it difficult to gloat. Her eyes, those eyes that had haunted Tom every moment since he had first seen them, snapped up to meet his. “I may have been too quick to say I didn’t want to be your friend. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Tom’s smile was nearly genuine now as he took in this sight. Here was the single girl who had ever defied him, yielding. She was an unknown to him, a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and he couldn’t wait to dissect her. “Friends then?” He asked, walking forward the four steps between them and extending his hand.

“Friends.” She agreed, shaking his hand once before pulling her hand back to her chest. With a nod to him and muttered goodbyes to the others, she walked away.

It was a good thing her back was turned, because then she could not see the way he was smiling; like a predator who had just found his perfect prey.

* * *

The incident with Lionel was the start of a new chapter in Tom’s life. He had never relied on anyone, and never had any interest in his peers, but he found himself fascinated by Hermione. Even at 8 years old, she was exceptionally intelligent and incredibly precocious. She read at a speed and level of children double her age, and she was opinionated about everything. They often spent hours after school in a debate of some sort.

A few years after they had first met, Margery had been adopted. Tom had not taken this particularly well. He had been in a horrid mood (well even more horrid than normal) when Hermione had sought him out. There was a cave just past the Granger’s house that was hidden beneath a craggy cliff. Hermione had been the first person he had ever shown his quiet place to, and that was where she found him that day.

_“Do you want to talk about it?” She had asked him, entering the cave without an invitation and sitting cross-legged beside him. Tom didn’t even bother to look up at her, continuing his carving. His right hand held a jagged rock that he was using to write his initials. TMR. He had a filthy name in a filthy place, only fitting._

_“Okay so you don’t want to talk about it.” He was nearing 14 now, and it was foolish for him to be so enraptured by childish ideals of family. Margery was a nuisance, and he was glad to be rid of her. “It’ll be you one day Tom.” She tried to comfort him, but he remained silent. Growing frustrated with him ignoring her, she grabbed the stone from his hand._

_This got his attention, and his dark eyes snapped up to meet hers. On the surface was everything he wanted her to see; his annoyance and anger, but she saw what was beneath. He was just a boy, a boy who wanted a family. Even the most cruel of people had families. “It won’t be me. Even if I was a good person, the likelihood of being adopted after you turn 13 is abysmal. Margery can have her sodding new family. I’ve never needed a family and I won’t ever.” It was the most emotion she had ever seen from the boy, and Hermione took a moment to take him in._

_“You don’t need parents to be in a family. You and me, we can be family. You’re not alone Tom, no matter how you like to think you are. All high and mighty, you act like you’re a king. But you aren’t alone. You’ll never have to be alone again.” She took the stone that she had seized from him and began to carve her own initials just beneath. HJG. When she was done, she threw the rock as hard as she could and laid her head down on his shoulder._

_He would never admit it, not even on pain of death, but that was the first time that anyone had ever called him family. An aching in his chest that he hated was soothed, and he felt his breath come easier. Maybe family wasn’t a weakness, maybe it would only make him stronger. Ever since he was young, all he had wanted to do was rule the world, and maybe it wouldn’t be a waste to have someone on his side._

After that, the cave had become their meeting place of sorts. They gathered candles and blankets and placed them on the rock floor to add some sense of comfort to it. Over the years it collected mementos of their friendship; books they had left behind, and a collection of things carved into the wall.

They had only grown closer over time. The brief year that he was separated from her when he began secondary school had been torturous. Everyone but Hermione was painfully dull and stupid in his humble opinion. Not a single student in that school challenged him, not in the way Hermione could.

Over the years, he had grown even more handsome, which he used to his advantage to manipulate people as well as collect lackies for menial tasks. By the time Hermione joined him at St. George’s Secondary School, he didn’t even need to lift a finger to exert his will on his mindless peers. She had kicked up a great fuss about it, and he realized that his methods were going to need to be more subtle.

Just as he grew, so had Hermione, and it was around his first year of sixth form that she began to attract notice from others.

* * *

“Tom are you even listening to me?” Hermione chided, her hands busy deftly pulling her long brown hair back into tight braids. Although the frizziness had tamed some after puberty, her hair was still uncontrollable right before it rained.

“Quite honestly, no. I can’t spend a single second more listening to you blather on about your maths class. I had to take it last year and it was just as dreadfully dull then.” They were sitting in the courtyard outside the school’s front entrance during their lunch break, and Hermione huffed at his dismissal. She knew better, however, than to try and speak to Tom about a topic once he had determined he was bored. He was always so blasé with things he found boring, and her heart ached as she feared that maybe he was growing bored with her.

“Oh for goodness sake.” Hermione cursed suddenly, rolling her eyes before forcing a wide smile on her face. “Bellatrix. Hello.” She always made an effort to be polite towards everyone no matter how much she disliked them, which amused Tom greatly. The two feelings collided though as his annoyance at Bellatrix’s appearance weighed against his delight in Hermione’s discomfort.

“Granger.” Bellatrix greeted coldly, her half-arsed smirk not even attempting to hide the open disdain she felt for the girl. Bella was in Tom’s year, and she had been pining after him since his first year of secondary school. She was pretty enough, with curly black hair and onyx eyes; which would be pretty except for the hint of lunacy peaking out from behind them. “Tom.” She nearly purred, and he found himself having to hold back from groaning. His name was so pitifully common, and it felt cheap passing through that bint’s lips. Hermione’s cheeks began to burn a delicious pink shade, and he chuckled at how she reacted every time one of the school’s girls tried to flirt with him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure Bella?” Tom asked her, his grin toothy and relaxed as he looked up at her from where he sat.

“Oh I don’t need an excuse to come see you, do I Tom?” Tom could’ve sworn he had seen Hermione fake gag out of the corner of his eye, and his grin turned up into a smirk.

“No, but you often have one.” It was not a joke, or particularly funny, but Bellatrix reared her head back and laughed. Her laugh ground in his ears like broken cogs in a machine. She may have been wealthy and influential, but he really couldn’t stand listening to her talk for more than a minute straight.

“You’re right. Lucius is throwing some fancy gala party at his family’s estate and I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me. As friends of course…lots of important people will be there, and since you are destined to be an important person…” Bellatrix was cut off as Hermione loudly slammed her book closed and stood. She didn’t say goodbye to either of them as she stormed off, and Tom found himself staring after her, wondering what had caused such an outburst.

“When is this party?” Tom asked, as he forced his eyes to turn back to the girl in front of him. As much as he loathed the idea of being near her too long, the Malfoys were known to have prominent members of Parliament at their soirees.

“September 19th. So next Friday.” He sighed as he thought over the date in his head; he couldn’t attend.

“Sorry Bella. I’m busy that night. Its Hermione’s birthday. Her parents have invited me out to dinner with them to celebrate.” Tom tried his best to at least sound somewhat disappointed, but the distraction of Hermione’s departure made it a little difficult. Bellatrix’s dark eyes seemed to darken even more somehow as her flirtatious smile was replaced by a sneer.

“Oh come on Tommy. She’s just some stupid bint. If you’re looking for a quick shag, you don’t need to pretend to like that little priss. You are going to be the most powerful man in the world. You don’t need her.” The glare he fixed on Bellatrix Lestrange as she spoke those words to him could have turned people to stone. Had she not been so thoroughly unhinged and spoiled, he supposed Bellatrix might have been smart enough to see how stupid she had been. Rising to his full height (now a full-grown man at just under two meters tall), he closed the gap between himself and the silly girl in front of him.

“You will never speak of Hermione in such a way ever again. As for slags, you’re right, if I wanted a quick shag, I wouldn’t need her. No, you’d fill that position most willingly. I am not friendly with her for a quick shag or because she’s useful. I am friends with her because she is the only person who has never bored me. Do you know what I feel right now towards you Bella?” His lips were not far from hers at this point, and a blatant arousal was fighting against her deep fear.

“What?” She rasped out, her voice tight as he placed a hand on her face.

“Bored.” He spat as he pushed her harshly away. Following in the direction Hermione had gone, he straightened his tie. Of all the girls who had tried to draw him in, Bellatrix was the most persistent. No matter what he did to her, he knew she would be back.

It took some searching, but he was able to find Hermione before the lunch bell rang and they returned to classes. She was standing near the glass greenhouses that sat just outside the science wing, speaking with Neville Longbottom. He was a timid boy from her year who had been exceptionally involved with the gardening club and had taken a liking to agricultural studies. His family was rather wealthy, so it had been worth Tom’s time to learn about him. As he approached the pair, he sucked in a sharp breath and stopped in his tracks.

Neville Longbottom had placed his hand on Hermione’s arm as she threw her head back in laughter. The pink tinge that her cheeks took on when they had a particularly heated argument graced her face, and Tom felt a pang resonate through his chest. Rage filled him in that moment, and he crossed the rest of the space in three strides, coming quickly between the two. How dare she blush for that clumsy inconsequential oaf.

“Hermione, there you are. Sorry about Bella, she is persistent.” Grinning with his predator smile, Tom turned towards the lanky boy in front of him. To give him his due credit, Longbottom did seem adequately terrified of Tom. Everyone knew that Hermione Granger was Tom’s friend and that he did not like to share.

“Yes, well while you were busy with that witch, I ran into Neville. He’s created a new kind of flower you know…isn’t that fascinating?” Her intrigue in the boy was genuine, which was what annoyed Tom even more. It was obvious to him that the boy fancied her, but she was never one to notice such things.

“Yes it is…fascinating. Breeding plants is such a scientific venture, after all, its hard to fight against the natural order. Some things just don’t belong with others.” His voice was only mildly threatening, which Hermione luckily missed but Longbottom certainly did not. He looked cautiously at Hermione before being saved by the bell.

“Well gotta get back to class. Nice seeing you Hermione….urm and you too Tom.” He sheepishly retreated back into the school building, and Tom contained his victorious smirk. It had been a growing trend that boys in Hermione’s year and even in his had begun to get ideas of fancy. It was his job to shut them down. No one else could have her, she was his.

“Oh!” Hermione yelled, turning sharply back to Tom. He was able to neutralize his face before she could detect how smug he was, but he stared at her in concern at her sudden outburst. “There’s a new boy in my class. Just transferred in. I’ve been assigned to show him around after school today so I can’t come to book club.” They referred to their meetings in the cave as book club so as to avoid questions, but Tom felt his brows furrow as he processed her words.

“Miss book club? But we were just going to get into the thick of Plato’s _Apology_.” His voice was petulant, and he schooled himself after a moment, but he felt his anger begin to brim. Who was this boy that was now getting in the way of his time with Hermione?

“I know. I’m as disappointed as you are, but the deputy Headmistress asked me specifically.” Tom felt his frown deepen at the mention of that Scottish shrew. She loved Hermione, but she’d always been skeptical of him, thanks to the interference of the crazy old headmaster. Sensing his anger, she placed her hand on his arm, the way she had when they were young and began to stroke small circles there. “Its just one day Tom. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst that could happen, Tom realized miserably a few days later, was Harry Potter. He had transferred into the school from a fancy private boarding school in the city, and he had taken to Hermione right away. Soon Tom found the insufferable messy haired boy eating lunch with them and joining them on their social events when they would go on walks around the town square or go to the library. It wasn’t necessarily even that the boy was inherently annoying. He was self-righteous and naturally suspicious of Tom, but he was at least intelligent enough to carry on conversation.

The rest of that school year had been torturous as he had to sit by and watch that leech of a boy slowly latch tighter and tighter onto his Hermione. No matter how Tom tried to get rid of him, he stayed. He was either too oblivious towards Tom’s threats or was particularly brave and stupid. Tom couldn’t even physically hurt the prat because he knew Hermione would know it was him. So he played pretend at being Harry’s mate. They carried on like this into the summer as well, although Tom had an advantage because of the close proximity of their homes.

The summer between lower and upper sixths for Tom were not as aggravating as previous ones. Mrs. Cole had finally given up on controlling him after he turned seventeen, so he was allowed a great deal of free reign. The lackies and connections he had made were beginning to pay off, and he was awarded a prestigious internship with the local MP (who happened to be Lucius Malfoy’s father). Hermione’s parents had her working in their practice during the weekdays, but Tom delighted in the knowledge that when she was there, she couldn’t be spending time with Harry Potter. Even the boy’s name made Tom taste blood. He had never hated someone so much. He was relentless in his determination to become Hermione’s friend, and it wasn’t until the beginning of his final year of secondary schooling that he realized why.

“Oi Tom.” Harry called as Tom and Hermione stepped off the bus. Tom had no means to afford either a car or a driving license, so he had relegated to riding with Hermione. Not that he particularly minded as it meant an additional 25 minutes each morning that were Potter-free. On this particular day, Tom looked wearily at the boy before telling Hermione to go ahead. She nodded her head quickly and ran off likely trying to visit the library quickly before school began. 

“Yes Potter?” Tom asked, running a hand through his slicked back hair before placing his hands in his pockets.

“I’m just giving you a heads up, since we’re mates, that I’m gonna ask Hermione out on a date.” The words hit Tom like a truck, and he felt his breath leave his body. His Hermione? There was no way. Harry seemed to take his silence as permission and clapped him on the back. “I mean, I figure you two have been friends so long that if you were interested, you would’ve done something by now. Glad we could have this little chat. Gotta go though, rugby tryouts are tomorrow and I’m helping run them.”

Then the boy trotted off, like he hadn’t just incurred the wrath of the most dangerous man he knew. Tom felt his hot breath catch in his throat as he tried to calm down. How could that degenerate nobody even dare to think that he could try to date her. A hot stickiness filled his chest, and he recognized it for the first time for what it was. He was…jealous. He had felt this heat before, when she would speak to other boys, but he had never placed it. Not until today.

He was jealous of Harry Potter because he wanted Hermione Granger to himself. Not as a friend or a comrade, but as a girlfriend. The thought of Potter or any other man for that matter kissing or touching his brilliant brunette made his blood boil. Turning slightly, he reared back his arm and threw all his strength into a punch. His fist connected with the bark of the tree he had been standing next to, and he heard a distinct crunch as his knuckles fought against the hardness of the tree. Screaming out a string of profanities, he cradled his hand to his chest as he made his way to the infirmary. He could move the fingers though, so he had managed not to break his hand.

“Mr. Riddle, it isn’t everyday I see the Head Boy in here. What have you done?” The elderly matron of the infirmary looked at him with disappointment as she glanced over for him to sit on the bench next to her. Madam Pomfrey had been one of the many faculty members that Tom had managed to charm into believing he was an angel.

“My fist collided with a tree.” He said very plainly, the tone of his voice being nonchalant, making it clear that he would not elaborate beyond that. She just sighed and pulled out some gauze from a drawer. Turning his wrist to the left and right, she confirmed that he likely didn’t have any broken bones but would need to keep it wrapped to prevent any further injury. Once he was wrapped up tightly, she dismissed him back to class with a smile and a late pass.

School was impossible that day, as he spent the entire time trying to figure out when he had started having romantic feelings for his best friend. She had always been the only person he ever considered his family, and he was furious that someone was trying to take her from him. Tom’s thoughts kept him distracted, and it wasn’t until he had snapped his pencil in half from the force of his grip that he raised his hand.

“Yes Mr. Riddle?” His elderly science teacher Mr. Slughorn was wrapped tightly around his finger, and so he painted on his best smile.

“Could I please be excused Mr. Slughorn, sir?” Tom asked, watching as the idiot excused him. The walk to the boy’s bathroom didn’t do anything to clear his head, and soon he found himself in front of a sink splashing cold water on his face.

Hermione was the key to everything. Before she came along, he hadn’t needed anyone, and he was disgusted now at how much he did need her. He loved to make her smile as much as he enjoyed making her mad. He got a sick sense of satisfaction from the laughter that sprung from her lips when he would joke with her. He was furious at her and at Potter, but most importantly, he was furious with himself for falling in love with her. Love was a weakness…and she was his weakness.

Returning to class, he decided that he couldn’t allow Harry to take his girl. He would have her, or no one would. The rest of the day passed in a dull monotony that made Tom’s head ache. How could time continue at such a slow pace when he needed to see her? Finally, the bell rang to signify the end of the day’s lessons, and Tom nearly ran from his seat. At lunch he had discussed with Lucius a plan that he needed help with, and now all he needed to do was to get the woman to agree to a date with him.

“Hermione.” He called, interrupting whatever conversation she had been having with a blonde-haired girl she had been walking beside. “Lavender. Pleasure to see you as well.” He tacked on at the end after he recognized the girl. She smiled politely at him, but otherwise didn’t interrupt. It was his first interaction with her that didn’t involve some form of disciplinary action.

“Oh hello Tom. What’s up?” Hermione greeted, rolling her eyes as her friend began to make gooey eyes at Tom. The faintest hint of pint colored her cheeks, and Tom cleared his throat.

“I was wondering if you would accompany me to dinner this evening.” He began, his tone overly formal as she watched him. Her amber eyes were warm and filled with confusion as she stared at him. Her curly hair was free today, hanging around her face like a lion’s mane. He loved her hair when it was free and wild.

“Dinner? Not our normal book club, but I suppose we can change it up.” Tom gaped at her for a moment before clearing his throat again. Was that? Was he blushing? Luckily for him, Lavender seemed to have understood what he was trying to do and that she was unwelcome and had walked away.

“Not for…not for book club. As a date.” The words fell off his lips like acid, and his heart beat rapidly as he waited for her answer. Three full agonizing seconds passed before she finally spoke.

“A date? Urm…yeah…I mean yes. I’d like that. Very much.” Her light pink cheeks had now deepened to a dark red, and Tom found it delicious that he could make her react in such a way. It was one of the rare times when Tom’s smile was genuine, but he beamed at her.

“Excellent. Now we best be getting on the bus. I’m sure you’ll want to finish all your homework before we go out. Wear something nice.” He winked at her, and she laughed, swatting at his chest. And suddenly the awkward and uncomfortable tension around them faded back to the comfortable familiarity they had always had.

She watched out the window most of the bus ride home, and they chatted quietly when they walked to their homes from their stop. Dropping off Hermione at her house, he continued on to Mrs. Cole’s home, eager for the evening ahead.

* * *

Tom owned many nice clothes, thanks to his internship over the previous summer, and he finally settled on a deep green button-down shirt and a pair of black trousers. Instead of slicking back his hair, as he often did for school, he allowed his wavy hair to lay naturally. He remembered that Hermione had complimented his hair like this once after they had gone swimming in a nearby pool.

Once he felt satisfied, he walked over to the nearby farmer’s market. It wouldn’t do to show up at her door empty handed. Lucius had been most insistent that girls require flowers for dates. Tom had just grumbled and glared at the boy, who at least had the common sense to stop talking when faced with Tom’s wrath. Perusing the floral selection for a long while, he was disconcerted by the colour and odor of the marketplace. Others would balk at the beauty of the flowers, how their bright colours cut through the grey cloudy day, but not Tom.

He had always hated flowers; they were constant reminders of the inevitability of death. Flowers were beautiful, oh so beautiful, but then they shriveled and dried and died. Before he had met Hermione, he had been obsessed with the idea of living forever, and it gave him pause that he didn’t realize he had stopped. His face was stretched into a sickly-sweet smile as an old woman descended upon him. She too smelled like flowers and he held in his revulsion.

“What can I do for you dearie?” She asked him, her wrinkled face splitting as she gave him a wide smile. Her teeth were crooked, and a few were missing; her thin grey hair was pulled into a disheveled looking bun.

“I’m looking for some flowers for a date.” He answered honestly, hoping that allowing this ancient woman to help him would get him away from this terrible place faster. That seemed to be the right answer as the woman’s face lit up. He did his best to smile and nod at her as she talked him through selection of a bouquet. Fifteen minutes later and he was able to say goodbye to the horrendous flower woman with a bouquet in hand. It was made of lavender sprigs and carnations mixed with a small gathering of white the woman had called baby’s breath. He supposed that it looked good enough. Hermione wasn’t like the silly girls that Lucius Malfoy entertained. When he ruled the world someday, she would be by his side. She had ambition and was passionate enough to be able to do whatever she wished.

Tom wandered back into Mrs. Cole’s house with his flowers in hand and nearly walked directly into Serena. She had just turned 15 and had maintained the introverted shyness that she had as a 6-year-old. “There’s a rumor going around school that you finally asked Hermione on a date.” Her voice traveled across the room, and he watched her with a deathly glare as she crossed the sitting room and entered the kitchen.

“And who started this rumor?” Tom asked, barely holding back the venom in his voice. Serena rarely spoke, so he was shocked to hear her do so to gossip.

“Lavender Brown. And it must be true because she took a break from trying to swallow that Weasley boy whole.” They both shared a dark chuckle. Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown were perhaps the most disgusting couple he’d ever seen, and he had written them up no less than two dozen times for nearly fornicating in the halls.

“Well I don’t know what amazes me more, that the gossips are actually sharing truthful information for once or to hear gossip being spewed by you.” He raised his eyebrow in a challenging gaze. She would back down every time that he called on her for more, but this time she surprised him. Instead of deferring and taking shelter in her room, she took a step closer to him.

“I like Hermione Tom. I like her very much and if you muck this up with her you will regret it.” Serena held his gaze and even managed to sneer at him, and he held back a laugh. To see this girl who was barely up to his shoulder threaten him filled him with amusement and pride. She had come a long way, and he had almost grown fond of her.

“Good thing that I don’t intend to muck it up.” His eyes turned darker as his gaze found her again. “Hermione has been mine since I was 9 years old. I won’t allow anyone else to have her.” His possessiveness mixed with his voice, and Serena gave him a long and careful look. He hardly ever showed his darker side to her. Jordan, now he had to be put in his place every once in a while, but never Serena.

Fixing him with a strong glare, he watched as she seemed to observe him; evaluating. Noticing the flowers that he still held in his hand, she finally allowed herself to relax somewhat. Tom Riddle was not the type of man to bring flowers…no, he must be serious about Hermione if he had gone as far as to surround himself with the very things she knew he despised.

“Lavender sprigs eh?” Serena asked, raising an eyebrow in playful critique before holding her hands up defensively at his fierce scowl. “Hermione isn’t like those other girls who throw themselves at you at school. She won’t be impressed by a bouquet of flowers and some well placed words of flattery. She sees you Tom. She sees you and yet she still chooses to stand at your side. Be yourself…or as much yourself as you’ll allow.” 

The way that she spoke to him should’ve made him angry. No one ever spoke to him like that. He was dangerous…moreso than Serena would ever know or understand, but there was also truth in her words. Even Hermione, his oldest and only friend, had never seen who he truly was. Down to his rotten core. He didn’t care that he hurt people, or who he hurt; vicious and calculating and predatory at the very heart of who he was.

Somewhere in the hall, Mrs. Cole’s obnoxious old clock began to chime the hour, and he was broken out of his own head when he saw that the clock showed that it was already 7. Running his hands through his hair one last time, he sent an angry gaze over to Serena at the small chuckle that escaped her throat.

“No worries Tom. I am properly frightened of you. Now go or you’ll be late to the one chance you’ll ever get to not muck this up.” He wanted to yell at her; to show her just how frightened she should be, but he did not want Hermione to be waiting. For a long time, he had assumed that he was incapable of emotion. He did not feel the way children were supposed to feel; he had no empathy for others, no sympathy at their pain…until Hermione. Serena stalked back away towards her room quietly, leaving Tom to his thoughts of Hermione.

There was something in her smile that caught him off-guard, that made his cold unfeeling heart feel. It was like once she had entered his life, she was determined to worm her way under his skin. She didn’t remove from him the things that made him the way he was. He was still calculating, cunning, ambitious…but she made him less aggressive about it. It had been years since he had sent someone to a hospital. The last time, well Hermione hadn’t spoken to him for weeks after he had. The entire time he felt like his skin was on fire. She was like an addiction, and when he went without his fix, the withdrawal set in. 

Not that she had tamed his thirst for blood, but she had certainly curbed his ability to extract that blood on his own. His knights and some pawns were over eager to earn his favor by doing his dirty work, but there was a longing within him for the bitter taste of another man’s blood. After a few months of allowing his henchmen to handle his affairs, Hermione’s silence had faded to disappointed lectures. It was like he could breathe again though, no matter how scathing her critique, it was nothing compared to the empty feeling he had in his chest when she hadn’t been speaking to him.

Pulling himself out of his own head, he straightened his collar once more before grabbing the bouquet and stepping out of the threshold. The quick walk towards the Granger’s well-kempt home was brisk and Tom found his gate expanded by the nerves that coursed through his veins. It was unlike him to be so affected by anything, but then Hermione had been affecting him since he was nine years old. Sometimes, when he was alone with her, he felt like that nine-year-old again. His world wrenched as one singularly brilliant young woman stomped her foot and changed his life.

Approaching the red painted front door, the gravel of the walkway crunched under his shiny new oxfords. For all his pomp and careful styling, he always felt like an imposter…like underneath his nicely stitched, crisply ironed shirt, his carefully hemmed trousers, and his shiny shoes, the world would see an uncertain scared little boy still wondering why he was not meant to be loved. Shaking away all of that distasteful thought on emotion, he rapped his knuckles quickly against the door and waited with his flowers for the door to open.

It was Helen who first answered the door. She was a pretty woman when he had met her, and age had only made her more beautiful. He saw much of Hermione in her face, although she inherited her father’s hair. Her glasses were holding her hair back like a headband, and she wore her scrubs from work. “Hello Tom. Its been too long since we’ve seen you. Harry was over the other day and I was thinking that it has been too long between our visits to the orchestra.” Her smile reached her eyes as she looked at him, and he took pride in having charmed her so thoroughly. Helen Granger had not been particularly hard to win over, but his real obstacle had appeared over her shoulder.

Richard Granger had grown colder to him over the years. Tom had always thought he suspected his true intentions towards his daughter, but he was nearly as calculating in his treatment of Tom as Tom was. The man would make a formidable foe, but Tom tried not to make one of him, for Hermione’s sake. “Sir.” Tom greeted, holding out his hand for a shake before stepping inside their home. The entrance hallway had not changed much in the time since he had first entered, except for a few more picture frames. He stopped for a brief moment to stare at the picture of himself and Hermione that hung on that wall. It had been one of the better days in his life.

“Hermione is upstairs getting ready. I must say, I had wondered if you two would ever wise up. I’ve been saying that you two would make a good pair since you were in primary. Didn’t I Richard?” Helen wrapped her small hand around a large cup of tea and smiled up at her husband. Richard, who had been carefully watching him from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles, smiled at his wife and then nodded carefully. His brown eyes returned to Tom’s dark ones, a clear warning being issued. He reached over towards the cooking top and turned the dial, setting a flame alight underneath their old copper-bottomed kettle.

“Oh dear, why don’t you go check on Hermione while I get Tom settled with some tea?” Tom narrowed his eyes only slightly as if he was evaluating how much of a threat Richard Granger posed at the moment. It had been years since Tom had outgrown the man, now standing several centimeters taller than him. Helen, oblivious to the obvious intention of Richard to get him alone, agreed to go and check on their daughter. Now alone in the kitchen with Hermione’s father, Tom cleared his throat.

“Richard, we both know you have no interest in offering me a cuppa, so may I ask what it is you wish to say to me?” He made sure to use his most polite tone, after all, the man had been suspicious of him for years already. It wouldn’t do to give him any more reason to be cautious.

“Did you know that when Hermione was young she used to cry when people stepped on flowers? She was concerned they’d be hurt. My sweet and kind little girl.” The older man’s hard brown eyes found Tom’s, bitterness and skepticism bleeding out from them. “She’s always been so good. So full of passion and so, so brave…my Hermione.” The kettle began to boil, and without breaking eye contact, Richard turned it off.

“Hermione is a wonderful girl. I have been perhaps the greatest beneficiary of her kindness. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but this little chat is about you thinking that I am not good enough for your daughter. I must stop you here then, because you are correct.” Richard Granger stared with his mouth agape as Tom made his declaration. It had not been close to what he had expected from the boy he had seen growing arrogant and power-hungry as he’d aged. Even his narcissism seemed to understand that he was dark and everything about Hermione was light.

“Well I suppose that is the gist of it. You have…a darkness around you. For a long while when you were younger, I thought you might corrupt her; change the beautiful little girl who cried about flowers into something else, something dark.” Grabbing a tea bag from the cabinet above the cooktop, Richard turned back towards him. “But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she’s the one corrupting you. After all, here you are standing in my kitchen with a bouquet of flowers, pretending like you don’t want to punch me.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the man, the hand that was not holding the flowers curling into such a tight fist that he worried he might draw blood in his palm with his nails. How had this man seen him so clearly? The only other person who was this suspicious of him was Dumbledore. “I don’t want to punch you sir.”

“Yes, you do. I know, because you remind me of when I was young. That’s why I worried so much about my Hermione being near you. When she was first born, I worried that she might take after me. That she might also be cold to the world. But she wasn’t. No, she cried about flowers and stood up to bullies and befriended a very lonely boy from down the lane.” For the first time since they had begun their talk, Richard’s shoulders relaxed. Tom’s, however, stiffened as the man spoke. He was not lonely. He had never needed anyone in his life…not until Hermione. “Let her corrupt you Tom. Love and caring is not a weakness…it can only make you stronger.”

Tom considered the man for a long moment, his dark, near-black eyes moving quickly as he struggled to take it in. He had never had someone say they were like him; he had always functioned under the information that he was different. The capacity to love was ripped from him the moment his mother left him on the steps of the local hospital. No one in his life had ever loved him. Before he could respond to Mr. Granger’s claim, Helen returned to the kitchen. Her eyes were slightly red as if she had been on the verge of tears, and Richard placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

A moment passed and then Hermione walked into the kitchen. Her wild curls had been tamed somewhat, half of it pulled back into a simple braid. She never had been one for makeup, but she wore a light pink lip gloss and some mascara. Her amber and honey eyes seemed to nearly glow from the enhancements. Periwinkle fabric wrapped around her in a dainty wrap dress, hugging her small waist and flowing out around her hips. The dress itself showed off her legs and a little bit of her chest, and Tom nearly licked his lips as he took her in. She was always beautiful but knowing that she had done all of this for him made him nearly burn with want.

“You look…absolutely stunning.” Tom finally spoke, meeting her eyes as he gave her one of his rare genuine smiles. Maybe Richard had been right, maybe this woman was worth burning the world for.

“Are those for me?” Hermione asked, her voice bringing him out of his trance. Glancing down towards where she pointed, Tom quickly handed her the bouquet.

“I…urm well I wasn’t certain what to get. The woman at the market thought these were nice.” He cursed himself for his delay. It was unlike him to be so hesitant. Richard had truly knocked him off his guard.

“They’re lovely.” She chimed, taking a moment to inhale the scent. She loved lavender. He knew she did, as it was the main smell in her perfume that she always wore. On warm days, when they would sit under the trees on campus, the wind would sometimes blow it towards him. It was intoxicating.

“Shall we get going then? Our plans are rather time sensitive.” Tom knew the moment that he had asked her to dinner precisely where they would go. It was non-traditional, but then again so was Hermione. Lucius had played a key role in managing to get precisely what Tom wanted, and he was grateful that the boy was so eager to prove his loyalty. When Tom became the youngest Prime Minister in the history of the United Kingdom, he’d be sure to bring Lucius into his cabinet.

Hermione nodded briskly, handing the flowers to Helen to put into a vase before placing her hand gently on the inside of Tom’s elbow. The blush that crept up her cheeks was delicious, and Tom drank in the way he affected her. Before they exited, Tom shot one last glare of contempt at Richard, who simply smiled sadly.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” She asked once they made it to the pavement. They were walking to the restaurant, so it had to be somewhere close. Neither her nor Tom had a car.

“You’re a smart woman. I’m sure you can figure it out.” He teased, winking at her as they began their walk. The walk was spent with Hermione incorrectly guessing where they could be going before eventually, she gave up and they instead began discussing Plato’s work. By the time they arrived at their destination, Hermione was fiercely debating him on whether or not the Gadfly Analogy was universal or only applicable within the context of _the Apology_.

“We’re here.” Tom interrupted, glorying in the heated look on her face from both their discussion and his unapologetic stop to it. Glancing around herself, Hermione’s faced contorted from mild annoyance to confused bewilderment.

“But Tom…this is the library.” The stone building was not very large, or very fancy, but Hermione had spent any number of hours there since her family had moved nearly a decade prior. She always took refuge in its quiet stacks whenever it was raining or gloomy. Much like the cave was Tom’s sanctuary, the library was Hermione’s.

“Yes, it is. And for tonight, it’s all ours.” Still uncertain what to say, Hermione gaped at the tall man in front of her. Dozens of questions skimmed the forefront of her mind, and she struggled over which to add first. Tom, pleased to see that she had been taken completely by surprise, chuckled at her obvious dilemma. “Lucius’s father is the largest donor to the library. He made a rather generous contribution for a playroom to be added to the children’s section…on the condition that I could host a picnic here for you tonight.”

“You can’t…how did you…” Without warning, her arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Tom, once he recovered from the shock of the contact, pulled her tighter to him. Her touch burned where it met his, and he smirked at her reaction. Slowly, she pulled herself away from his chest, a beautiful blush staining her cheeks.

“Its perfect Tom.” There was a new feeling stirring in his chest, and he vaguely recognized it as pride. This sensation was normally reserved for his successful bouts of manipulation or when he managed to squash a threat, but today he was proud to have made Hermione happy. He held his hand out to her, and opened the door. The library itself was small, but one of the unique features was a small reading room that was painted to mimic the night sky. Tom lead her to this room, where they found a blanket set up with a picnic basket.

Lucius had really come through for Tom’s demands, right down to the candles. He had hoped that it would be reminiscent of their cave, and it had worked. Hermione, normally never one to shy away from utilizing her voice, was speechless behind him. “I didn’t want to take you to dinner like any other girl Hermione. You’re not like any other girl I’ve ever met. No you required something far more extraordinary.”

“And what’s wrong with other girls?” She asked, suddenly indignant at his comments. This was often a topic she would complain about when they would read about romances or see films that involved romance.

Turning around suddenly, he stopped in place. She ran into his chest, and he looked down at her. His dark eyes were possessive as he took in her face and hair. No she was not like other girls at all, not to him. “What’s wrong with other girls, Hermione, is that they are not you. I would not bring anyone else to the library on a date.” Placing his hand on her cheek, he was satisfied to find her shiver under his touch. Maybe he burned her just as much as she burned him.

“Well I suppose you wouldn’t bring Bellatrix to the library.” Hermione’s voice was light as she took in a sharp breath. As much as Tom was possessive and jealous, she had her own moments. He was hers, and it upset her when other girls flirted with him in front of her, but the only one that dug her way under Hermione’s skin was Bellatrix Black.

The air around Tom grew cold for a moment, and he frowned at her. Suddenly, he turned and continued walking towards where the basket was, elegantly sitting on the ground before motioning for her to join him. Eyeing him carefully, she moved closer, gathering her dress skirt around herself before sitting next to him. Once she was settled, he opened the basket and poured out some of the wine that Lucius had supplied.

“I would not bring Bellatrix to the library.” Tom spoke quietly, staring methodically at the glass of wine before swirling the red liquid lightly. He raised the glass to his nose and took in the sweet aroma before taking a tentative sip. “I would not bring Bellatrix Black anywhere. Hermione, there has only ever been you. I am just sorry that I did not realize it until now.”

Waiting for her response, Tom began to unpack the basket. It was filled with a cheeses, meats, and fruits for an appetizer and then some gourmet sandwiches for an entrée. The dessert was a small chocolate cake, but Tom left it in there, wanting to surprise her.

She had been watching him quietly, shrinking against his gaze. He always told her in these moments that she should be more confident. Hermione had an inclination to make herself feel small when someone expressed interest in her. “May I tell you something Tom?” She questioned, her honey brown eyes moving from his face towards her own glass of wine. Alcohol had never been something she had been very interested in, but her parents had always taught her the beauty of a well-aged vintage.

Tom’s black eyes followed her hungrily as she raised the glass to her lips and swallowed. The muscles in her throat contracted as the liquid went down it, and he had an overwhelming desire to place his lips there and mark her as his own. “Anything.” He nearly growled out, taking another sip of the wine. It was fruity and tart, clearly an expensive bottle.

“I’ve fancied you for some time now.” He watched her with disbelief in his eyes. He was incredibly observant, in fact he prided himself on his observation skills; they were an incredibly useful tool in his manipulation. Watching his face contort into a look of confusion, she laughed. “And now I get to say that I have brought the great Tom Riddle to speechlessness.”

“How…” His throat ran dry as she swallowed another sip of wine and his eyes ran across her throat again. Licking his lips, he looked back to her eyes. “How long?”

“Since the ball.” _The ball?_, Tom thought, realizing with a start that she meant the Yule Ball the school had held in her eleventh year. That had been nearly three years prior! She, as if she had not just upturned his world, grabbed a slice of cheese and a piece of salami.

“Since the ball!” He exclaimed, nearly choking on air as he sharply breathed in. “By God woman you’ve fancied me for three years and I’ve never noticed?!” Tom was not used to being taken by surprise, but this was nearly beyond belief.

“Well you…when we were young there was always this darkness in you. I mean we became friends because you broke the nose of a boy bullying me.” Inching her fingers closer to Tom’s, she brushed her hand against his. “It scared me at first. It felt like you were a grenade that could explode at any moment; but the one thing I knew was you were always selfish in your expression. You’d never put yourself in danger, but then you did…for me.”

Tom regarded her with narrowed eyes. The Yule Ball had been a dreadful event. Hermione had gone with some foreign exchange student and so he ended up taking Bellatrix. This had been the first and only time he had willingly spent more than five minutes with the bint, and it nearly resulted in her murder. “I am certain I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tom answered diplomatically.

“I doubt you think I know about it.” Hermione goaded, a joking tone in her voice. Looking up at her, Tom scowled.

“Know about what?” He countered, his shoulders tightening. There were many things that Hermione didn’t know, and any number of them could mean the end of their friendship.

“You threatened McLaggen to leave me alone. He’d been following me around all year trying to hit on me. I had made some excuse about needing the loo and when I came back, I overheard your conversation. He wasn’t afraid of you, stupid of him, but you got in trouble with Dumbledore over him.” Hermione’s fingers stilled against his before being pulled away, and he found himself disappointed at the loss of her touch. Serena had been right. Hermione saw him…she saw him more than he ever thought, and she was here anyway.

“Hermione…” Tom started, putting down the wine glass he’d been holding. “I’m going to kiss you now.” It was mostly a statement, but there was an uncertainty in his voice. He always took precisely what he wanted, but Hermione was different. As much as he wanted her, he also could not bear to lose her.

Nodding her head, she closed her eyes. Tom drank her in in that moment. She was so vulnerable; so open to him. With her eyes closed and offering herself to him, Tom licked his lips before leaning in. Her lips were somewhat sticky when his met them, probably due to the lipstick she wore. However, he also noticed that they were soft, as soft as he had hoped. Strawberry flavoring graced them, and he held himself back from licking them. Pulling back, he loved the blush that crept up her neck and cheeks. When her eyes fluttered open, she was smiling.

“I love you Tom.” She squeaked out, clapping her hand over her mouth moments later like she had not meant to tell him. A silent war waged in his mind, and it was suddenly all too much for him. He was cold and heartless and self-serving, but not with her. Hermione was the only thing in the world that ever made him think about anyone but himself. He couldn’t be selfish, not when she was in the world.

Ever since his mother had left him abandoned at a hospital the day after he was born, he had functioned on the understanding that he would never feel love. He was not born to be loved; he was born to rule the world. Looking into Hermione’s honey eyes as he considered her, suddenly, it didn’t seem like those were mutually exclusive anymore.

“Before I met you, I was obsessed with immortality…I never wanted to die. Not that I had anything particular to live for, but I was too good for death. Now…here with you, I find myself with a reason to want to do more than not die…with you, I want to live.” Tom took a deep breath. “I have never cared about anyone else, and I likely never will, but you, Hermione Jean Granger…I love you.”


End file.
